Thoughts buzzed like honey bees in his brain. The feet were disconnected, carrying him onwards, to nowhere. Or was it everywhere? A world of its own, encapsulated, trapped within a bubble. It seemed tranquil at first, peaceful and serene.

And then he heard it. The sound of battle, of struggle, of vain glory in a dance of life and death.

He heard it long before he saw them, the fighters. But though he wished nothing more than for his feet to carry him elsewhere, for his ears to block out the sound of explosions, sizzling lightning, of hooves meeting flesh and sand and flesh again, he couldn't control them. Like a puppet he was pushed, stiff-legged and jerking with the lack of will to be there, until he had a perfect view of the struggle that fractured the perfect bubble of stillness and set it exploding into madness.

There was Ampere, flashing back and forth as though she invited death to claim her. Not so very old anger seethed in his gut at the sight of her, paired with reluctant admiration. At least she didn't ask anyone for anything she wasn't prepared to do herself. That, at least, he could respect, if not her apparent eagerness to die.
Gaucho was there too. Always the moving mountain, as impenetrable and indomitable as always, his presence made it seem impossible that the struggling mortals would lose. There was Sacre too, and Cera, Shida, Erebos... The list of faces he knew had grown since last time, but it didn't make him happy at all.

After all, they were just faces. Names and colors flashing by, all paling to nothing compared to the golden lord that soared high above them all, raining fire down upon some unseen enemy.

Cathun couldn't tear his eyes away from the god. Like a newborn colt he shivered, the slate gray coat darkening where cold sweat broke out across the neck, the back, lathering in pure, stinking fear that rooted him to the spot and set his breath forth in shallow, uneven gasps.

It was so ironic, that a creature made of fire would fear flames more than anything. And yet he was. Not so much the raw form, perhaps, but rather the mind behind it. The cruel, devouring greed that swallowed everything in its path and left nothing but ash, death and destruction in its wake.

He was scared, scared of taking even a step closer to that blinding entity that so resembled the one who had taken everything from him, scared of turning his back and hearing the screams of people he should care for ring in his ears because of it, scared to do nothing and carry the guilt for that the rest of his life, scared that even if he got involved he would make no difference.

The last seal hummed and throbbed on his chest, a warning against the consequences if he stepped forward. He might die here. At the very least he would create his own downfall, shorten what little time he had left in the world. There was too much magic in the air, too many forces battering against the fragile, weak thread that tied him to life.

He had no reason to sacrifice himself for them, none at all. Nor did he really care what he looked like in their eyes, what they thought about him. Cathun the Coward had a nice ring to it, a title that left no expectation or hope on him. He would be free...

Cathun sighed, drew a deep, shaking breath, and with a despairing sob he forced himself to take a step forward, and another.

What did it matter if he died now or in a year? He would be dead all the same.

Might as well get it over with.

After that it became easier. Steps eased into walk, that grew into a flowing trot and urged him forward in a long-legged, ground covering gallop. Swift as a young god he ran with bleeding heart towards the fray and threw himself headfirst into the milling throng, deaf and blind and not even knowing what they were fighting. Unthinking he followed the stream of attackers and found himself pushed back and forth, hither and thither until he emerged at the front lines. There, still not quite able to make out just what the enemy was, or where it was, he turned and lashed out in a sharp buck, not really aiming but still hoping that he might hit something.

And all the while he felt the presence of one god like a choking hand around his throat, drying the mouth and blinding him to the fact that he was already fighting another.

How's that for irony.